Life's Great Happiness
by Beatles-McLennon
Summary: Marguerite Boisvert did not have hope, she scoffed at the mention of love but five years later Marguerite found she was beginning to gain more than she had ever imagined. Good and bad. A revolution was coming, a new dawn would rise, a group which almost became historic will live on forever in the minds of those left behind.
1. The Prostitute And The Centre

Marguerite Boisvert was a very beautiful girl, she always had been, and even starvation couldn't dull her stunning features. She had been a beautiful baby, wide eyed and small; with a smile so large it could brighten the eyes of her father who had been in a depressed daze since his wife's death.

Childbirth proved too painful for the weak woman.

Marguerite grew to be a beautiful child, her breathtaking smile and stunning blue eyes were all given to the girl by her mother who had been a very beautiful woman herself.

It was a natural beauty which possessed Marguerite, one that could not diminish even after her father's death. Suicide it was, drowned himself when Marguerite was 14. The tragedy and pain was etched into her eyes but her face remained flawless still, with or without a smile she was prepossessing.

Her family had never been wealthy, lower middle-class at the most with her father's job but his death caused life to crack and crumble right in front of Marguerite's eyes. She was poor, homeless, alone, sad to an extent she never thought possible, she was in pain with no family to speak of, she had no skills and who in their right mind would hire a 14 year old girl?

It took Marguerite 2 years to find an answer.

For those two years Marguerite had lived on her feet, walking or running to where she needed to go, she lived alone on the streets stealing from anyone she saw with something she needed. She had sold all she had before she started to steal, she had beautiful long black hair like silk, she'd cut it off, sold it for 11 which she then wasted on food having not eaten in five weeks, She had continued to sell her hair whenever it grew.

It was when she was 16 that Marguerite found a job, her eyes had flared defiantly when first offered, she had been pushed to the ground, mocked and robbed of what she had stolen that day and laughed at more, she had been pushed against a wall before she agreed. She'd broken down, cried and nodded her head. It was the first time she had cried since her father had died.

Being a prostitute was more trouble that what it was worth but Marguerite didn't have much of a choice, she was a 19 year old girl with no skills in reading or writing, she had been on the streets too long to have any real worth somewhere else. 4 years being a prostitute and yet she was no better than she was when she was 16, but why did Marguerite continue to be one? Because it was something to hold onto, something real she had that wasn't made up in her mind, Marguerite hadn't had anything since she was 14, she had been alone but now she had all she wanted, men and more men. Old men, young men, harbor rats and alley cats and every type of scum, loor men, rich men, leaders of the land.

'See 'em with their trousers off they're never quite as grand.' Marguerite muttered to herself as she fixed her hair after a particularly rough customer, it seemed to her that the richer they were the harder they hit.

'You alright?' Béatrice, an older prostitute who had been working a the better half of 10 years, she was indeed old and with the right amount of makeup she was pretty but her eyes were too large and her teeth too few.

Marguerite shrugged with a smile, the bruise on her cheek hurting more than she could describe but she had worse so she kept quiet.

'5 francs for that one, I think I will brave whatever pain it has cause me, a feast is better than a whine.'

Béatrice nodded with a fleeting smile, her large eyes shined with something akin to pity and Marguerite almost scoffed, she had seen the older woman sport a badly broken arm and yet she pitied the younger girl for a bruise?

'I'm heading to the main street.' Marguerite had told Béatrice the next afternoon.

'I wouldn't,' the older woman warned. 'there's some sort of protest going on, there's quite a crowd.'

Marguerite rolled her eyes, a loud scoff escaped her lips and she moved onwards with Béatrice frowning after her, her thin lips curled and her eyes clouded with annoyance.

Marguerite wasn't rude just smart enough to know manners wouldn't get her anywhere, with her customers being nice didn't get more money, it didn't stop them from getting angry and violent, so she didn't bother.

* * *

Beauty wasn't something Marguerite valued; in her job beauty didn't matter as long as you had a tight and short dress, her customers more often than not where anything but beautiful. Marguerite in all her life had never been beauty, her father and she lived in a tattered house with brown walls, she then lived on the dirt streets, Marguerite now lived in a small horribly smelling box like house which caused her to vomit at least once a day.

Marguerite had never lived in beauty but she knew it when she saw it and what she say was the most beautiful person she had ever seen in all her 19 years of living.

There stood a young man atop a brick wall that seemed to raise him to the heavens, which is where he belonged as he looked more like an Angel than any Marguerite had seen in any book, his beauty shone down as he spoke. Marguerite didn't know what he was saying, too distracted by his face and movements but his lips moved with a passion in which Marguerite had never seen, his eyes flared with a fierceness that caused her heart to soar with something she couldn't place.

Something hard hit into Marguerite's back and the next thing she saw was the ground before she shut her eyes so tightly she saw stars, her arms flew in front of her but there was no pain. She'd been pushed to the ground before; she knew how much it hurt, how the dull ache was which lasted for days depending of the falls but nothing came.

'There's so many people here I'd known someone would get hurt, the heat of freedom sends some people into a frenzy. It's good for us but ah, not so much for thin ones like you.' An apologetically laced voice said warmly. Marguerite's head was pressed against a chest that rumpled with laughter.

The prostitute pushed herself up and fixed her face with a glare which was met with a warm smile from the young man who had caught her.

'Are you alright Mademoiselle?' The young man asked, he couldn't be older than 23 with his baby face and wide optimistic eyes. His curly black hair fell in front of his eyes like he'd been jumping around.

'Who're you?' Marguerite asked in a snappy tone without meaning too, she simply fell into a defensive mode when faced with a new person, a habit she had to let go of she knew or she'd lose customers for being too off putting.

'Courfeyrac, at your service Mademoiselle.' The young man answered with a grin.

'What in God's name is all of this?' Marguerite gestured around her at the chanting people surrounding the Angel she had seen before her fall.

'We're protesting.' Courfeyrac said.

'Oh? I didn't notice.' Sarcasm was another thing Marguerite had to learn to give up.

Courfeyrac laughed whole heartedly before grinning at the beautiful girl in front of him again.

'We're protesting for freedom, we're representing the people, we're fighting for them, for France.'

Marguerite stared at the handsome young man in front of her dully before she noticed the buttons on his clothes, his clothes as a whole actually. They were new, clean, expensive.

He was rich.

Marguerite was running out of money despite how many callers she received, food costed so much and she mainly services sailors during these times.

'Fighting for the people?' Marguerite put on a smile a sly, seductive smile that be in anyone else they'd had have been begging for more. 'You look like you need a rest Monsieur.'

Marguerite placed hand on Courfeyrac's chest, her fingers played with the buttons on his coat as she moved her body closer to his but before she could lay a playful kiss on his face Courfeyrac placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back more gently than she'd ever been touched before.

'I don't think that's a good idea.' The young student smiled.

'Why not?' Marguerite said with the same seductive tone, still in character for the prospect of gaining more money, food being the only thing on her mind.

'Because you look like you need a rest Mademoiselle.' Gesturing to the large, dark bruise on Marguerite's cheek Courfeyrac squeezed her thin shoulders softly and smiled at her again, a kind of warm, caring smile that had never been directed at Marguerite before.

Marguerite's face fell, her lips were set in a thin line and her eyes dulled considerably, this look showed Courfeyrac just how sickly the girl in front of him was.

The young woman, only 19 at the most, was amazingly beautiful, her sunken in face didn't stunt her looks but Courfeyrac could see the pain shining horribly in her eyes.

'Is there something you need?' Courfeyrac asked with genuine concern which shocked Marguerite, it was written clear on her face.

'Tell me,' Marguerite said quietly, a little ashamed a little relieved. 'what is his name?' She pointed to the blonde Angel standing atop the wall still talking loudly, the crowd around him cheering intensely.

Courfeyrac glowed with pride as he turned to face the man.

'That's our fearless leader,' He said, his voice filled with blatant awe. 'Enjolras.'

_Enjolras. _

Marguerite stared at Enjolras again, her eyes training on his face immediately. His blonde hair whipped around his face as his head moved wildly with his passionate movements, his blue eyes seemed to be looking at everyone at the same time, like he could hear what everyone was saying, like he cared, like he understood the hardships and lives of everyone around him.

You only find a person like that once in a lifetime and Marguerite was staring right at him.

'I've to go.' Marguerite said hastily, knowing her boss would beat her if she didn't go back soon.

'Will you be alright?' Courfeyrac asked, he grabbed hold of Marguerite's elbow and pulled her back to him, his eyes shifted over a face with a concerned gaze Marguerite felt uncomfortable under.

'That's no business of yours.' Marguerite snapped.

'Tell me your name at least.'

'I'm a prostitute you know, that'll cost you Monsieur.'

'Would you tell me your name? I'd like to know what matches your face.'

'Marguerite Boisvert, let's see how long you remember that Monsieur.'

'Beautiful name,' Courfeyrac grinned. 'so it does match. I'll endeavour to remember it until our next meeting.'

Marguerite stared at Courfeyrac, never had she spoken so openly to someone before, she always had her walls up around the older prostitutes and anyone else she had ever spoken to had just wanted sex, Marguerite expected that she was a prostitute after all. But something about Courfeyrac was refreshing, if only for a moment.

Without another word Marguerite ran back to the alley which she worked at, Courfeyrac filled her mind for a few minutes more but Enjolras plagued her thoughts for much longer, his beauty, for brief second, brightened something within Marguerite.

Courfeyrac stared after Marguerite with a worried smile.

'Courfeyrac, why are you just standing around? Enjolras needs you.' Combeferre came up behind Courfeyrac shaking his head at the young man like he was dealing with a badly behaved child.

'I've just met the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, in all my life 'Feere, I swear it so.' Courfeyrac said.

Combeferre sighed and slapped his friends shoulder.

'You say that about every woman you meet my friend, I've come to never believe you. Now stop standing around like an idiot and help.'

Courfeyrac grinned, 'I'll say it again: she was beautiful.'

Combeferre rolled his eyes.

'But she was a prostitute.' Courfeyrac added with a tilt of his head.

Combeferre slapped his forehead and groaned as his friend continued to babble on.

_'Enfer putain.'_

* * *

_~First chapter done! Please vote (if you like it!) and please review, tell me what you think, It'd mean a lot to me._

_This chapter and probably the next one are set maybe 1-2 years before the events of the movie/book. I'm going to add a mix of things from the book and movie, like I'm going to write Marius to have the relationship with the Les Amis de l'ABC like he has in the movie. I like the idea of him and Enjolras being friends and Marius being apart of the Les Amis de l'ABC. _

_Montparness will be introduced next chapter!~_


	2. Paris' beautiful Scoundrel

'Where 'ave 'oo been?' The drunken voice of Marguerite's boss sent shivers down her spine, she wasn't fearless; she had been beaten too many times to be that.

'Out with a customer, I'll show you the money if you'd like.' Marguerite said and it was no lie, well the money wasn't at least. She had run through the crowded streets of Paris and stole a good 11 francs from a man's pocket.

But the boss was too drunk to care much; he was too drunk to understand Marguerite at all so he hit her across the face. The punch was sloppy, not aimed right in his drunken haze but it had hurt, not hurt enough for Marguerite to collapse in pain but she wouldn't let the boss know that or he'd hit her again. Marguerite fell to the ground and scrambled backwards from the intoxicated man, she leaped up when he had closed his eyes and dragged his hand over his eyes; she ran until she hit a wall, her breathing was ragged but she felt a weight off her shoulders knowing her boss would not remember what had just transpired the next morning.

'Well isn't this a mournful sight indeed, tell me Mademoiselle what is a flower like you doing here? Oh and with such a bruised cheek and bloody lip.' The voice which met Marguerite was sweet and smooth, it was equal parts mocking and genuine, it made the young prostitute frown and her eyes hardened with mistrust.

Marguerite squinted into the darkness of the alley, wanting to see a face matched with that voice but she found none.

'Show yourself!'

'Women shouldn't yell like that.'

'I'll show you what women shouldn't do if you don't show yourself!'

Laughter echoed in Marguerite's head as a figure stepped forwards, her eyes widened a fraction as she know knew the face which stood before her.

A young man her age grinned down at her with frightening charm, he was pretty and Marguerite might have thought him beautiful had she not seen Enjolras earlier that day, since glimpsing the blonde's face the word 'beautiful' seemed only made for him. His dark locks atop his head caused his eyes to glow with like spring; slender with hips like a woman he wore a flower in his button-hole and an elaborately tied cravat around his neck.

Montparnasse stared down at Marguerite with a raised eyebrow.

'You're Montparnasse.' She said simply.

'Ah,' Laughed he. 'you know me!'

'I'd think the whole of Paris would know you.' Marguerite pushed herself off the ground and with fake confidence she stared into Montparnasse's eyes with an intensity that made him grin wider. 'You're the feminie looking boy who kills for clothes, ah what a legacy.'

'I'd watch your tongue.' The bandit hissed. 'I really don't want to kill you but I don't take back-chat from anyone, not even a little girl.'

'What do you want? Come to steal from me? I'm a prostitute and I haven't a customer all day so I'll love to see what you think you can steal from me.'

'You've got something of mine, money you stole. You know at first I thought you were a little street urchin but I followed you to that alley, I saw you and…..your boss? What a nasty punch that was but I'm assuming you've had worst, most whores have I imagine but enough babble.' Montparnasse straightened his back and held his hand out in front of him, his eyes narrowed but his lips turned upwards in a charming way that would make most woman fall to their knees but Marguerite wouldn't have it, no doubt the money she had stolen from the murderer was stolen from someone else so keeping it for herself would be better than giving It to him.

'But monsieur I am poor and weak, shall I keep the money and give you something else in return?'

Montparnasse placed his hands on the young girl's waist, his fingers danced over the fabric of her tight dress as Marguerite plastered on a fake smile for his pleasure. The bandit's hands moved lower, towards the small pocket on the back of dress and Marguerite narrowed her arms and pushed herself out of his hold.

'I really should have never to trust a murderer, you see yourself as higher but really the dirt nobody sees.'

'Is this how you talk to all of your _customers?' _

'You're trying to cheat me out of my money.'

'You stole it from me!'

'After you stole it from some other poor soul!'

'Let's just admit we're as bad as each other.'

'You've killed over 4 people! I would never kill another person!'

'With that body Mademoiselle I do believe you've killed quite a few.'

Silence settled between the two young people, Montparnasse too amused to attack the girl to have his money back and Marguerite too quietly happy to have someone to talk with to leave. She was happy to talk with anyone who did not wish to buy her body, flirty teasing was all that came out of the black haired boy's mouth and it made her smile, it caused an unfamiliar feeling to grow within Marguerite like it had done when she was with Courfeyrac for Marguerite was an extremely unhappy and lonely person. Oh don't get me wrong, she didn't like Montparnasse in the least but she was too lonely to scoff at his company.

'Let's make a deal.' Marguerite said after some time. 'I'll give you the money back if you do something for me.'

'I could literally kill you right now and not even feel the slightest bit of remorse but fine indulge me, what favour would you have me do.'

'What do you know about the student Enjolras?'

'He runs some revolutionary group full with a bunch of men our age, though I stand by saying you look like a little girl. Has starvation stunted your growth? Perhaps that's it.'

'Do you perhaps know where this group is?'

'More often than not they meet at the Café Musain…..Why?'

* * *

'If I had known you'd only use me to stalk a young man I'd have stabbed you and stolen my money as soon as I saw you.' Montparnasse deadpanned as he and Marguerite stood in front of the Café Musain, why he had listened to a prostitute was beyond him. She was beautiful that was true but surely he had not been fooled by her looks.

'Well,' he continued. 'are you going to go in? Arrive in all your beauty and win the heart of dear Enjolras? Although I have to say that will be hard, the women of Paris long for him yet he's like a young girl, won't put out I hear, too consumed by France to care for women.'

Marguerite had learned in the quick few hours since meeting Montparnasse that he had the annoying habit of babbling, he talked simply to hear his own voice and while some might love the sound too Marguerite did not, she hated people speaking for no reason, voices were meant for meaning not annoyance and Montparnasse was abusing his privileges of having a working speaking voice.

'I'd actually rather just look at him.' She said without thinking.

'You're so romantic it's sickening.'

'It's purely lust and a bit of curiosity.' Marguerite snapped, her eyes glaring hatefully at the bandit who raised his hands in mock surrender.

'I should have known.' Said he with a grin, Montparnasse crossed his arms and bumped his hips against Marguerite. 'Going to try and use your whore seduction to win into his slacks?'

Marguerite didn't answer, she simply looked at the café and tried to picture the happenings inside, she imagined laughter and cheers, all she couldn't muster with her broken heart, a smile was either forced or fake, a laugh hurt her throat, happiness was scarcely felt, Marguerite's gaze turned into one of jealousy.

'I need to go.' Marguerite said her voice void of emotion. She turned on her heel, gave a quick nod to Montparnasse and left, her small feet walking faster than most young girl's, like she always had something dire and important to do.

Montparnasse watched the girl go with half-lidded eyes for he had never seen a girl more beautiful. It was a minute later when he began to make his own way home that he realised he was still 11 francs short.

'Oh you've got to be kidding me.' He muttered to himself, he'd forgotten to steal the money back, he should have known the girl wouldn't have given it back to him, whore's weren't trustworthy like that.

Montparnasse smiled with something akin to pride.

He didn't run after the girl, he simply continued to walk on.

* * *

'Did you get those francs back?' Gavroche asked when his much older friend had entered his home.

'Shut up.' The bandit snapped as he stalked to bed.

Gavroche didn't miss the smile that was plastered on his friend's face but he didn't mention it.


	3. Les Amis de l'ABC

A week had passed since Marguerite had stood in front of the Café, a week since she had longed to go in and see the angel speak and be passionate, about what? She didn't care, she only wanted to look at him regardless of what words escaped his lips. During that week Marguerite received one more black eye, she had broken her right arm and a scar etched onto her left calf. During that week she had met with Montparnasse four times. The two formed a strange friendship for it was strange because Marguerite hated the sound of Montparnasse's voice and Montparnasse in turn despised Marguerite's profession and her lack of care for her own appearance. Perhaps they were so close because Montparnasse thought Marguerite to be beautiful and perhaps Marguerite was lonely and just needed someone, it mattered not who that person was.

The reason mattered not for these two young children (because no matter what they had done or gone through that is what they were) were drawn to each other and neither tried to explain it, they simply fell into place beside the other.

A week had passed since Montparnasse had escorted Marguerite to Café Musain and while he wasn't one to get attached, especially to a young woman like Marguerite but he couldn't help but walk past the alley he had once seen her in with her boss the week before for that seven days, he had met her there two of the four times they had met that week and the other two he had met her on the street, he'd seen her and walked over, smiling with a dip of his hat, she smirked and took his arm and then the two sat, ate, argued, laughed even, when they felt like it.

To the eyes of those who saw them the two looked like long-time lovers, basking in the glow of each other without realizing it. Montparnasse watched the prostitute with glee, amusement danced in his eyes. Never had he met such a witty, intelligent whore (he almost felt bad for calling her such a name in his thoughts). She wasn't intelligent about books or words but the world; she saw it as it was, cold and cruel, only existing in vanity and greed. Montparnasse had never met a woman so beautiful, whore or not she was beautiful, blue eyes, dark lashes, perfect lips and her jagged cut short black hair was more charming than off putting.

Montparnasse watched her intently, traced her face with his eyes and smiled.

But what did Marguerite think of the criminal Montparnasse? She thought him to be sly, too cunning and too evil, there was a blackness in his heart, a different kind of black than what she had. He had murdered, she had been killed, his heart pumped with death while hers was broken by life. Marguerite couldn't help but single out all their differences but she was lonely, deeply and unfix-ably lonely so she basked in the glow of Montparnasse's eyes, his spring filled eyes watched her and she watched them watch her with a heavy heart.

'I marvel at you, how might a whore be like you?' Montparnasse asked in wonder, slightly mocking and slightly serious.

'I'd say I'm one in 'million, what whore is like me? I'd laugh If you could think of one.' Marguerite said seriously with a hint of a smirk, it was the fourth day in which they spent with each other.

'I'd say you think too much of yourself but then I fear you'll stop gracing me with your presence.' Sarcasm dripped from the bandit's cherry lips but he smiled as if his words were true.

'This is where I say goodbye; If I never see you again it'll be too soon.' This was the farewell Montparnasse was always met with, Marguerite's full lips picked up in a small teasing smile (one Montparnasse was sure she'd used on hundreds of men but he didn't mind, he was lost in the sight regardless) as she left.

Never knowing Montparnasse watched her leave, watched her every step but, dear reader, have this knowledge: Marguerite wouldn't have cared if she had known, she didn't busy herself with the lust of men who didn't pay her, she'd rather smile at Montparnasse and be given a smile in return than a seductive smirk.

* * *

'Mademoiselle! It's been too long! A week and a day it's been!' Courfeyrac chirped as he came across a familiar beautiful face on the street.

Joly and Jean Prouvaire, friends who were accompanying Courfeyrac to Café Musian that day, stared at their friend in shock. Did he know that prostitute? It wasn't normal to greet a whore once you're done with them.

'Courfeyrac, is it? I remember you! Now get going, you're losing me customers the longer you mingle.' Her voice was like silk, somehow not rusted by starvation or dehydration, she was a sight to behold, a miracle almost. She was like a skeleton but still beautiful.

How did this prostitute remember Courfeyrac's name? Surely he wasn't that good.

'I met her at last week's protest.' Courfeyrac explained to his clearly confused friends. 'The girl I told 'Ferre about.'

'Oh yes!' Exclaimed Joly suddenly, startling Jean beside him. 'I remember! It's a pleasure! A pure pleasure to meet you!' Joly smiled happily at Marguerite and she raised her eyebrow at his happiness, all happiness appeared false in her eye which is why she seemed to trust Montparnasse as much as she did because he wasn't happy, he was indifferent to most things apart from crime.

'My name is Joly,' the happy young man finally introduced. 'and this is Jean Prouvaire.' The smiling boy pointed to his companion, the shy looking boy on his right.

Marguerite raised her chin at the pair, her eyes narrowed and calculating, she was losing money the more they stayed around, a part of her was relieved but the other half was angry, she had to survive and they just lived in their own little world.

'This is Marguerite Boisvert.' Courfeyrac introduced, he lay a gentle hand on her shoulder and flashed her a quick comforting smile.

_He had remembered her name._

Marguerite couldn't help but let the shock sheep into her features.

'It's nice to meet you Marguerite.' Joly smiled and Jean nodded beside him, a large smile also plastered on his face.

'We're heading off to a meeting, we're a part of the group which started the protest last week, and would you like to come with us?' Jean asked, his voice soft and sweet like music, a voice not all listened to but when you did you came back being different than you were before.

Marguerite then noticed their sad looks, the sympathy etched into their eyes; she then remembered what she probably looked like. Purple bruises from the bruises and cracked bone, swollen lip from arguing with the boss and another black eye from fighting back against a man who had pushed her against a wall. Montparnasse had asked what had happened, she'd shrugged and given him a hard look and he never asked again.

_For a murderer,_ Marguerite thought, _he isn't the worst person I've met_.

'I look like I've gotten into a brawl and hardly gotten out 'live.' Marguerite said.

'I think you still look beautiful.' Courfeyrac said and there wasn't a hint of a lie in his voice, he was too good, too kind hearted to lie.

Marguerite shrugged, she picked at her nails as she kicked the ground beneath her feet.

'There's a friend of ours who is a doctor' Courfeyrac continued. 'he'll be able to make sure that lip doesn't get infected and he'll bandage up that arm.'

'Courfeyrac, Combeferre's a medical student.' Jean deadpanned. 'He'll be pissed when he hears you got it wrong again.'

'Pish Posh, he'll get over it.' Courfeyrac waved his hand with a pout.

Jean stretched out his hand with a smile.

'The café is only a short walk from here.'

Marguerite stared at his hand; her hands twitched by her side a she stared at the pale skin.

'Come on,' Whistled Courfeyrac from her side. 'It's clear as day, written on your face, you want to. Don't you want to look back in twenty years and say you had the guts to take the skinny poets hand?'

Marguerite whipped her face to her side to curl her lips at Courfeyrac.

'I have guts, more than you I'm sure Monsieur.'

And she took his hand, held it tightly in her own because she needed to, she needed to know he was there and not some illusion her mind had created from being hit too hard, she'd often see her father when hit hard enough.

'To the Café Musain it is!' Joly laughed, Courfeyrac laughed along with his friend and Jean shook his head at the pair.

Marguerite couldn't wait to tell Montparnasse she had finally gone into the Café Musain.

* * *

In the backroom of the Musain was dark but not dreary, it was alight with talk of all things and whispers of something else.

There was a map of France which hung on the back wall, large and clear, it was the first thing Marguerite saw as she walked into the room.

Courfeyrac, Joly and Jean were greeted by their friends, laughs and hugs were shared and Marguerite felt grossly out of place.

'Who's this bit over here?' A man (Bahorel) laughed, he caught sight of Marguerite's short, tight dress and uttered a low whistle but as his gaze rose his eyes widened, the cuts and bruising not matching the beauty of the young girl's face.

'Are you alright?'

'Courfeyrac tells me you have your very own doctor.' Marguerite said her voice sweet to make the pity disappear from the eyes of those around her.

'For Pete's sake Courf I'm a medical student, If I have to tell you one more time I swear to God-'

'Message heard loud and clear.' Courfeyrac grinned and Combeferre could do nothing but sigh and shake his head as he made his way over to the wounded girl.

'I don't have much supplies here but I do have bandages, It won't cure a broken arm but it'll keep the bones in place to they can hear correctly.' Marguerite felt like this boy thought she was stupid, his voice was soft like he was talking to a child as he touched her arm gently.

Combeferre took out the bandages from a drawer in the backroom and quietly and perfectly began to wrap the white material around Marguerite's arm. She looked on with wonder as she had never had this kind id treatment, her bones were fragile from starvation and all the times they had healed wrongly, she knew she looked like a child but she didn't care, she had never had a bandage before.

'What seems to be so important that is has stopped this whole meeting?'

Marguerite lifted her head and a smile laced her lips as she saw the man who stood before her, yes she'd tell Montparnasse about this. Enjolras stared down at the girl who was seated on one of the wooden chairs with Combeferre kneelt in front of her wrapping her obviously broken arm.

'Courfeyrac,' Enjolras scolded. 'I thought I told you not to bring any more of your woman here.' The air of annoyance swum around the beautiful young man, like a father who was just tired at his idiot son's antics.

'She's not!' Courfeyrac defended. 'She's a friend and hurt as you can see E, I met her last week.'

'Oh.' Enjolras continued to stare at Marguerite, she could feel the man judging her, trying to figure her out but she didn't mind, she saw his face and fell into a spell but this spell was broken as Combeferre nudged her arm the wrong way.

'I'm a prostitute.' Marguerite spluttered out for lack of anything better to say, she had a horrible brain to mouth connection, she hardly thought before she spoke.

'In case you were wondering, just thought I should get that out there.'

Enjolras stared at her, his blue eyes and widened and Marguerite was convinced she could see her own reflection in them.

Marguerite heard a laugh from the bar, a drunken kind a giggle, she saw Enjolras whip his head to the side to glare at whoever had spoken, his eyes scornful, filled with a little haughty pity before his eyes settled back on Marguerite.

'Do you know who we are? We're Les Amis de l'ABC, we fight for the people. I care not your profession; we're all the same under God. Courfeyrac is also a very good judge of character.' Enjolras sent a smile Courfeyrac's who grinned famously back at him.

Marguerite stared at Enjolras, now she didn't believe in love but if she did she would have surely felt it in that moment.

Odd how Courfeyrac and Montparnasse both looked at Marguerite the way Enjolras did, as a person but yet Enjolras is who she solely chose to feel her heart ignite for.

'You're hurt.' Enjolras stated. 'Is there something you need?'

'Are the drinks free?' Marguerite blurted out before she could stop herself.

The same drunken giggle soon exploded into laughter as Courfeyrac fell against the back of Marguerite's chair sniggering, Combeferre covered his mouth and shook his head while Enjolras groaned and sent a glare towards the bar again.

'Not another one.' Marguerite swore she heard him mutter to Combeferre who burst out laughing and nearly fell onto the ground in front of Marguerite's chair.

It was the first time Marguerite saw happiness happen in front of her.


	4. The Start Of The Story As We Know It

**~Three Months later~**

It did not take Marguerite long to fit in with Les Amis de l'ABC, they were odd, strange and as was she. It wasn't that Marguerite wasn't 'like other girls' because she was, the streets were riddled with prostitutes harbouring trust issues, many were orphans like she but there was a something within Marguerite that drew people towards her, a want to know more, an allure that kept them hooked. She was a cold girl but her laughter brightened dark days, Jean Prouvaire wrote poems about her, her short ragged hair and her pretty face, her blue eyes that seemed welcoming and calculating, happy and pain filled. Marguerite had scoffed at the words, never been one for beauty she didn't understand the poetry Jean loved but she felt her cold heart warm as the realisation that Jean must have thought about her a bit to write something about her, not many thought of her in ways that didn't involve her naked. She was grateful, happy, she felt safe in the walls of the Café Musain.

Marguerite wasn't a drinker, she was a sickly child from starvation and dehydration, she barely ate she only threw it up again but she did sit by Grantaire's side from time to time, a bottle in her palm, she rubbed the glass and thought of things she didn't say as Grantaire drank wine and laughed until his eyes focused on Enjolras then his face shone with something Marguerite couldn't place, Grantaire then placed his wine down and stared at Enjolras, his dark eyes wide and searching, staring only at Enjolras like there was nothing else in the world worth to see.

It wasn't love, Marguerite thought as she always saw love being the connection between to people who felt the same thing, and Enjolras seemed as interested in Grantaire as Grantaire seemed in the revolution the fearless leader was planning. Enjolras seemed as interested in her as he did in wine which is to say very little or not at all.

'Has he broken your heart?' Montparnasse had asked mock concern etched onto his pretty face like scratches on a glass. 'Has he? Well now he's stolen your role, now flower I thought you were supposed to break the heart of every man in Paris.'

Marguerite had glared at her friend, slapped his arm in a warning gesture that meant she wouldn't be afraid to fight him and she'd do it even if he fought back, there wasn't much in this world this young girl could control but she could control her personality and her womanhood. She saw it as her mission as a woman to show men they could not use force to get their way. This mission, this vow of sorts was why Marguerite often left customers with bruises and scars and broken limps.

'No.' She'd told Montparnasse, 'I ain't in love, lust and want…Now those are things I'm in but you were right, Enjolras is like a young girl, won't give…I'll settle for looking at him.'

In truth Marguerite had not tired with Enjolras, she hadn't used her famous charm on the boy and she didn't look at him, no she gazed, she marvelled, she was in awe. In awe of his brilliance, his courage, his stance, his looks, those eyes, she felt her heart pound when his eyes skimmed over her. Marguerite didn't want to be in awe of this young man, from her experience men didn't need any more of an ego boost, they were controlling, dominate and they believed themselves to be better than her (_'Why not get a real job?' _They'd laugh at her when they were finished. '_You are asking to be stepped on; you've gotten yourself into this!' _They laughed and mocked yet they were the ones who needed her service. No one would hire a girl like her anyway, they'd shove her on the street, call her a whore, tell her she was useless, they'd force her to fall into this life and they'd be the ones to laugh and mock her for choosing this life as if it was her free choice) but Enjolras seemed different. He was one of the people who were not like anyone else; he was different in every way. Beautiful and smart, strong, he believed.

But she wasn't about to tell Montparnasse that.

Speaking of Montparnasse, she and the bandit were still close, close maybe. Marguerite often talked of the ABC, she often retold jokes she had heard from Bahorel, she told of Jean and his words, of Grantaire and his drunkenness and of Enjolras. She did not know the feeling that was swimming in the pit of Montparnasse stomach, jealously filled his slender frame as Marguerite's eyes lit up like they'd never done with just him.

Marguerite had felt close with these people, she went to the Café Musain to escape the life of prostitution; she shared a joke with Joly, a laugh with Feuilly, she often sat with Courfeyrac in silence the two of them just enjoying their friends and Marguerite forgot what she had to go back to. Sometimes she was beaten for being gone too long and sometimes she wasn't, she was happy anyway, she was doing something she wanted and evil old men who thought themselves higher were not going to discourage her from being happy in the time she had.

Along with Les Amis de l'ABC Marguerite met two other people she'd come to love and loose, this time through Montparnasse. Eponine and Gavroche soon were placed in Marguerite's heart.

Eponine was strong, beautiful in a way Marguerite wasn't. Marguerite, who was younger than Eponine by three months she believed, was more beautiful physically that was to be said, there were not many in Paris who were more beautiful than this blue-eyed young girl but Eponine had the strength, a trick in her eyes and the imagery that she knew where she was going despite how she didn't. She stood taller than Marguerite, laughed freely, she was splendidly mad in her own way; she drank like a man and never took any shit from anyone. Gavroche was a young street urchin, younger brother of Eponine but he lived on the street, sometimes he stayed with Montparnasse but he was freer than anyone in France so he never stayed for long. Eponine and Gavroche's parents sent young Gavroche out on the street saying he would be better in the street than in their care, they didn't care for him and Gavroche cared enough for the both of them. He was strong like his sister, a mischief-maker who often sat atop walls and houses to look at Les Amis de l'ABC as they protested in the streets of Paris, they were his idols, and he cared a great deal for their cause despite never having met them.

When Montparnasse wasn't with the Patron-Minette and Marguerite wasn't working the four of them were often together, they escaped their lives and were with each other.

'Gavroche seems happy.' Eponine laughed one day as Montparnasse chased the laughing street urchin around the grassy hill that took hours to get to.

'He always seem that way,' Marguerite observed. 'he always seems happier than all three of us.'

Eponine had nodded; her eyes downcast and glassy. Marguerite heard Montparnasse laughing, she heard Gavroche's laugh soon mix into the bandits; happy, they were happy. Marguerite often wondered how long until the pain in her life would disappear and be replaced completely with happiness. Enjolras had said it would when all people were free and happy but Jean had shook his head, he'd smiled and said it would only come about when we were happy with ourselves and what we had not matter what was going on around us.

* * *

'You wouldn't believe who's moved next to me.' Eponine had said as she saw Marguerite sitting on the street.

'Who?'

'Well I don't know but he's handsome and smart, I've seen books tucked under his arm – large ones.'

'Perhaps he can't read and is only showing off.'

'No! He doesn't have that face, an honest one he has.'

'Please don't stalk this young man.'

'He's living next to me if I do it's no fault of mine.'

'I'd love to stay and chat but I've to go.'

'Got a customer?'

'The café Musain.'

'You're always there! It's become your obsession, I'd be careful….Don't fall into Enjolras' eyes.'

Eponine laughed her quiet mad kind of laugh and caused a smile to flicker across Marguerites face.

'I've friends there.'

'And an obsession!'

'Don't start.'

Marguerite walked away from the street corner, still hearing Eponine's laughter echoing across Paris and into her ears.

* * *

When Marguerite entered the Café she saw a face she didn't recognise, a handsome young man who looked nervous and jumpy but his eyes were warm, a genuine goodness shined in them. His slightly freckled face was slightly red like he had argued something close to his heart; his warm eyes were on fire and his stance proved he believed all he spoke. He faced Combeferre.

'…to conquer the world twice, by conquest and by dazzling, that is sublime: and what greater thing is there?'

'To be free.' said Combeferre.

The new young man had bowed his head, embarrassed by the simple truth of the medical student's words. It seemed the cold truth of his words had pierced the young man to his heart.

Combeferre smiled, satisfied with his answer. He then left the room, with the other Les Amis de l'ABC following behind him, all except Enjolras who stayed behind with the freckled-faced young man. Marguerite glanced at Enjolras before following behind Courfeyrac who'd smiled at her as she came in.

'Who was that?'

'Marius Pontmercy.' Courfeyrac answered with a large smile.

'I think you've broken him.' Marguerite said directing her small smirk towards Combeferre who shrugged and played with his glassed.

'His argument was easy to break through.' Combeferre said.

'Only for you.' Marguerite deadpanned.

She'd love to be able to conquer the world twice over, have money and power but given the chance to be truly free, well she'd run towards the freedom with open arms.

'Where's Grantaire?' Laigle asked.

'Still In the café.' Combeferre answered.

'Isn't Enjolras talking business like in there?'

'I dare say Enjolras hasn't realized R is there.' Joly said.

Marguerite nodded, and she left. She heard Combeferre singing behind her:

_If Caesar had given me_

_Glory and war_

_And if I must abandon_

_The love of my mother,_

_I would say to Caesar:_

_Take my sceptre and my car,_

_I prefer my mother, ah me!_

_I prefer my mother._

'I hope you didn't scare him as much as Combeferre did.' Marguerite said to Enjolras as she entered the back room, she had passed young Marius Pontmercy as she walked up the stairs, his face was downcast and thoughtful but he managed a smile as she shoved past him.

'He'll come back.' Enjolras said simply.

'I'm not even going to tell you how threatening that sounds.'

'I see it in his eyes, he believes. He'll be back.'

'I think he's just lonely.'

Enjolras stared at Marguerite and she suddenly felt self-conscious, not with her looks but her being, she felt as though Enjolras was seeing flaws in her she should have seen herself, his eyes seemed to trace every imperfection and crack.

'I'll be going now.' Marguerite said quickly, her eyes fell from Enjolras' gaze in one sweep.

'You weren't here for long; you frequent this place and normally stay for much longer.' Enjolras said but his tone was not caring, more curious and observing than anything else.

'I frequent this café more than men frequent me.' Marguerite snorted without thinking, she often said things without thought around the angelic young revolutionary.

'Don't be vulgar.' Enjolras berated the young prostitute.

'I make my life on being vulgar.' Marguerite laughed and walked out of the back room of the café with a smile.

'Bye sweet Mademoiselle.' Courfeyrac called as Marguerite passed him, she essayed a smile and as she walked outside there she saw Marius Pontmercy.

'You're still here.' She said as she came up to him.

Marius' face turned bright red; he coughed and tried to smile. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I'm not interested.'

'I don't want to get into those horrible pants.' She deadpanned. 'I'm kind of….apart of Les Amis de l'ABC.'

'Really?'

'Do you not think a woman can believe in revolution?'

'I-I well you see-I just thought…..I didn't mean it like-'

'Well this woman doesn't but I'm sure some do, I just think it's far too interesting to ignore.'

Marius nodded; he wrung his hands together and gulped.

'Will you be going back?' Marguerite asked.

'I-Well you were there weren't you? I was embarrassed and I can't show my face there anymore. They'd laugh I'm sure, I have other things to worry about and being mocked takes up too much time.'

'They meet here at the same time tomorrow.' Marguerite informed the nervous boy. 'You don't even have to say anything, God knows Grantaire doesn't. You can just sit. Be there. With people. Or are you one of those social lepers?'

'I like to think I'm not!'

'Ah, see that means you are.'

'What is your name?'

'Marguerite Boisvert and yes, I'm a prostitute and yes, I still don't want to get into those horrible pants.'

'My name is Marius Pontmercy and I am a Baron.'

'Really now?'

'But I don't really have any political power at the moment…..My grandfather hates me now so I'm disowned…I'm also homeless…..I actually don't even really own my coat I borrowed it….And I-'

'People tell you to express your problems but please bottle that noise up.'

'I actually don't even have any friends.' Marius laughed pitifully, his laugh was hollow and his eyes blank.

'Les Amis de l'ABC meets here tomorrow afternoon. Come and please don't spill at that at the first meeting, Enjolras will be so shocked at all your problems he will ask you to leave so he has time to understand how a _citizen _can have so many problems.'

Marius smiled at Marguerite; he nodded at the young woman in front of him and left.

Marguerite watched as Marius walked towards where Eponine lived. Something ticked in her mind and she laughed.

'Poor Eponine has fallen in love with an idiot!'


	5. A Lovesick Fool and A Fearless Leader

**~1 Year Later~**

'That could have gone better.' Marguerite said as she and the young students entered the back room of the Musain.

'I got punched in the face by a policeman.' Courfeyrac said far too cheerfully. Combeferre gave his friend a strange look before Lesgle took a look around the room and crossed his arms.

'Where's Joly?' The unlucky man asked.

'He looked pretty distressed at the protest.' Bahorel said.

'He always looks like that.' Marguerite put in. And it was true, Joly had a way of looking permanently distressed at least %99.9 of the time.

'He's a hypochondriac,' Combeferre started. 'He probably thinks he has some deadly disease and is currently trying to scrub off his skin.'

Silence overtook the room until Grantaire clapped and stood up from the chair he had sat himself on.

'He'll be fine.' The drunk said.

No one felt like arguing with him.

'The protest went better than I thought it would.' Enjolras said as he walked over to the group. He stood next to Grantaire whose eyes had locked onto the blonde intensely.

'Dare I ask, how?' Courfeyrac teased as he rubbed his bruised cheek.

'The flame is igniting; we just need something to set it off.' Enjolras told the group.

'What, exactly, would that be?' Marguerite asked dryly.

'I'm not sure yet.'

'Well, this revolution is getting off on a great start.' Grantaire quipped before bringing a bottle of wine to his lips.

Enjolras curled his full lips at glared at the black curly haired man before shaking his head with an amazing amount of disappointment and almost disgust.

Marguerite watched as Grantaire's eyes blurred before he took another go at his wine.

Enjolras walked off, Courfeyrac and Combeferre following behind him, without looking back once. Grantaire stared after him anyway.

'It's hard to watch sometimes.' Marius said quietly.

Marguerite nodded, knowing what he was talking of.

'I wonder if Enjolras knows the pain he's causing.'

'Ah,' Marguerite held up one finger and stuck her nose in the air. 'but France is in pain, what other pain should Enjolras notice? Surely not a cynics. A pity I need to leave or I'd have a drink.'

'Marie,' Marius started, using that nickname he had called her since their second meeting. 'you drink too much.' The concern held in his voice was clear, these two young people had become close over the year since their meeting and concern was often thrown between them.

'I'd like to think I'm keeping hydrated.'

'You would.'

'Sweet Marius I'm taking my leave now, be a good boy and make sure Joly isn't throwing up in the toilet.'

'Fine. Say hello to 'Ponine for me and travel safe, don't get into too many fights with your customers. Your ribs are just starting to heal.'

The young prostitute almost wished Marius would just ignore Eponine, every hello and goodbye made it harder for the young girl to see Marius did not love her as she loved him. Eponine was in love and could see nothing else.

Marguerite waved off Marius and his concern. She walked onto the streets of Paris and her face grew cold. She walked a little differently; her eyes were more welcoming and seductive. Her ribs hurt but she was running low on money.

* * *

'Glad to see your face is clear and free of marks.' Marguerite heard a voice say behind her.

'Montparnasse,' She smiled slightly, happy to see him once he emerged from the shadows. 'money is high, I'd rather francs than a bruise.'

'Would you?' Montparnasse asked lightly, his voice sounding almost like a longing gust of wind.

He didn't say anymore, the bandit simply fell into step behind Marguerite. They were like two pecies of a puzzle that had found each other.

They walked for hours, Montparnasse in silence as Marguerite's eyes glassed over with unshed tears she hardly noticed anymore.

Montparnasse wanted nothing more than to hold the young girl in his arm, coo her a sonnet of some sort and break the necks of all that had hurt her. But he refrained; he stopped himself in favour of continuing to simply walk with her. Because should he stop and hold Marguerite, Montparnasse would prove he loved something more than himself and loving someone that much was frightening even for one such as Montparnasse. He was 20, she only maybe 19 (Marguerite had long forgotten to track her age, she didn't care for it. It just proved how fast her life was going away from her) they'd lived a life of bitterness without love for far too long.

Montparnasse had thought Marguerite was like him, too bitter to love yet there She was going to sit with the young revolutionaries, something sparkling in her eyes which he had never seen.

Montparnasse cut his train of thought short as he bid his farewell, he walked away and then after he had walked a distance he turned back, his head angled to look behind him and he saw that Marguerite had walked away without looking back.

That's it, Montparnasse thought, that's what love is. Looking back when you know that person has already moved on.

Love isn't supposed to make you happy; it's supposed to show you how strong you are. So Montparnasse kept walking.

He only looked back twice.

* * *

'Where's Marius?' Marguerite asked as she walked into the Café Musain the next day.

'Late.' Enjolras muttered.

'Our fearless leader looks ready to murder.' Courfeyrac said as he came to stand beside Marguerite.

It needs to be said, for purposes of foreshadowing I suppose, that these two young souls were connected. Soul mates in all ways but romance. When they looked at each other romantic thoughts flew over their heads as they saw family, their soul's partner.

'And here I thought Grantaire would be the first to go. I will miss Marius I have to say.' Marguerite grinned.

All members of Les Amis De l'ABC were running around the back room, Enjolras' voice boomed out orders as everyone followed obediently. All except Grantaire who sat at the bar, thinking deeply but saying little.

Enjolras spoke, his voice strong as he talked of revolution, the beginnings of it and the strength of Paris.

Marguerite hardly caught of word as she stared at his face.

'We need to rally the people! Call them to arms! Make them a fighting force with us that no evil can break!'

At that moment Marius walked into the Café, slowly with a ditzy smile plastered on his freckled face.

'Marius you're late.' Scolded Enjolras.

'What's wrong today?' Jean asked. 'You look as if you've seen a ghost.'

'Have some wine and say what's going on.' Grantaire offered but as Marius reached for a bottle Grantaire pulled it away and drank it himself. He simply shrugged his strong shoulders when Marius gave him a weird look before shaking his head and sitting down.

'A ghost you say... a ghost maybe. She was just like a ghost to me. One minute there, and she was gone!' Marius breathed; his eyes full of awe and his voice sounded as if he didn't believe his words.

Grantaire grinned and Marguerite laughed.

'My God! Sweet Lord is that love is hear?' Marguerite crackled.

'I am agog! I am aghast! I knew it would happen oh! Sweet Marius is in love at last!' Grantaire teased.

The students all laughed and hit Marius lightly on the shoulder, he blushed and everyone looked amused apart from Enjolras.

'I find it funny that here you are,' Grantaire pointed at Enjolras and spoke softly but teasingly. 'You are here speaking of battles and then he comes sounding like he some kind of Don Ju-an! Shit, who needs the opera when I have this?'

'I find it funny you have time to think of the opera while there is a revolution beginning to dawn.' Enjolras spat. He looked to Marius and his eyes softened. 'You're not a child anymore; this isn't some game a rich young boy plays. It's serious and must be taken as such.'

'I say Enjolras is right.' Marguerite said. 'But first, Marius what's this girl's name? I want to know!'

'I...Well...see that's kind of the problem...I just kind of...saw her and-'

'You saw a girl on a street and fell in love with her?' Enjolras inquired and upon only a nervous smile from Marius the blonde Angel slapped his palm to his forehead. 'Jesus Christ.' He swore.

'You don't understand!' Marius protested. 'If you were there today Enjolras, you'd know how it feels. I feel as though my whole life had been broken and rebuilt again. Anew! Yes I feel anew! I have never felt love such as this.'

'I wouldn't go too over your head Marius.' Marguerite said. 'It's just a girl. Love? Now there are better things to get excited over.'

"To love or have loved, that is enough. I'd wish for nothing else in this world." Marius said with the purest conviction.

Marguerite stared at Marius in complete shock, her eyes scanned his face for a sign of flashing humour, she wished for a hint of flippancy. The young girl laughed breathlessly as realisation hit her, the infatuated fool wasn't joking in the least.

'Can you talk of this later?' Enjolras said hotly. 'We do have bigger things to deal with.'

And before Marius could respond Enjolras was off making orders again that everyone was happy to listen to.

'Well, Courfeyrac, do we have all the guns?

Feuilly, Combeferre, our time is running short. Grantaire, put the bottle down! Do we have the guns we need?'

The young revolutionaries ran around the room talking and yelling their progress happily.

Until a small voice yelled:

'LISTEN TO ME!'

Marguerite turned around to see little Gavroche standing behind her.

'General Lamarque is dead!' The little boy announced when everyone had turned to look at him. Over the past year Gavroche had woven into the hearts of all the students.

Silence until Enjolras took to the centre of the room, he placed a hand on Gavroche's shoulder and began gravely:

'Lamarque is dead.' He stood straighter and yelled confidently.

'Lamarque! His death is the hour of fate. He was the people's man. His death is the sign we await!'

Enjolras walked the room to touch the arms and shoulders of all the young men ready to fight and stand with him, a sign he'd be there always to fight with them.

'On his funeral day they will honor his name. With the light of rebellion a blaze in their eyes. From the candles of grief we will kindle our flame! On the tomb of Lamarque shall the barricade rise! The time is here! Let us welcome it gladly with courage and cheer! Let us take to the streets with no doubt in our hearts!'

The room cheered, even Marius jumped up to cheer.

Enjolras placed a hand on Marguerite's shoulder; his fair skinned hand gave a squeeze to the ivory skinned shoulder this being a sign that no matter her profession she was welcome to fight.

Something warm filled her stomach and Marguerite found herself cheering too. Gavroche jumped to Marguerite's side and the older girl held his hand tightly as he cheered and jumped at Enjolras' words.

Enjolras had finally found something to set off the flame of revolution.


End file.
